I'm working at a service station
Working myself into the ground
I don't have a sink to wash my face in
What about the information?

New Beetles are coming from every wave
Crowds that come here to worship and pay
I heard 'em on the radio station
What about the information?

[Chorus]
And you try and you try and you try and you try
And you point to the sky and you don't know why
In a book or a face you will look for your place
And you point to the sky and you don't know why... why... why... why

Ministers fall into Presidents' clothes
Presidents fall into evil control
This is the hole I put my faith in
What about the information?